


A Lungful of Ghosts

by deyinger



Series: What It Is You Live For [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy phase, Angst, Azure Moon Spoilers, Blue Lions Route, Death, Dimitri feels a lot of feelings, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, in-game events, write what you know am i rite?, writing this gave me a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deyinger/pseuds/deyinger
Summary: In the week since the captain's death, Dimitri has hardly seen the professor. He wants to, more than anything, but the sight of her cold eyes is too much, and it's all too loud.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: What It Is You Live For [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850809
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	A Lungful of Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabzelpygeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabzelpygeon/gifts), [madzeldacryaotic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madzeldacryaotic/gifts).



> Takes place throughout the week between Jeralt’s death and exploring the monastery. It includes in-game moments and _lots_ of thinking. This part doesn’t have a happy ending. Sorry. The next one will, I promise.
> 
> Thanks to [ gabzelpygeon ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabzelpygeon/pseuds/gabzelpygeon). We worked on the idea together. We talk about Fire Emblem a lot.

They laid the captain beside his wife. The lady Rhea sang as the knights lowered him into the earth, and Garreg Mach held its breath at her voice. 

Dimitri didn’t hear it, though. The oaken coffin drowned out all noise, even after they’d slid the stone slab atop it and covered it with flowers. The professor stood before her parents’ grave, silent, unblinking. Monks and knights and students came up to her throughout the night, offering tears and prayers and comfort, but she acknowledged none. Not even the archbishop, who’d brushed her cheek with her hand and planted a kiss on her forehead. Byleth simply stared, cold as a statue, at her father’s name on the stone. It had driven Marianne to tears, and even Felix couldn’t bear to look at her. So her students left her to her silent grief. 

Only Linhardt had dared approach the professor. Most had left the churchyard when he walked up to her and leaned in to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, saying nothing. Byleth blinked at the touch, and her lip quivered ever so slightly. Dimitri thought – hoped – she’d finally weep, but the expression was gone just as soon as it had appeared. It was the most she had moved the entire night.

Still, she said nothing.

“Your Highness.”

Dedue’s hand was on his shoulder. Dimitri wasn’t sure how long he had been trying to get his attention, but it must have been a while if Dedue had presumed to touch him. Not that Dimitri cared, of course, but he knew Dedue would never be so familiar.

“Your Highness,” Dedue said. “It is late.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agreed. “Good night, Dedue.” 

He hated to abuse his station and dismiss his friend so curtly, but he knew Dedue wouldn’t leave his side unless ordered to. And Dimitri couldn’t leave yet. Not until the professor did.

Obedient as ever, Dedue left with a silent bow. 

With his retainer gone, only Dimitri remained. He stayed out of the professor’s sight, hoping she would forget his presence entirely. He doubted she even realized he was there.

It wasn’t long ago that he’d stood as she did now, when his own father was lowered to rest beside his mother. He knew how hard it was to take that first step after you’d put your last parent in the ground. He had to see her take it. He didn’t know why, but he had to, and he’d wait however long it took. After that, he’d leave her to mourn as she would. That he swore. But he needed to see her turn her back to the captain, the moment her long, hard journey of living on started. 

The sun had begun to rise when the professor finally knelt, laid a single pale flower upon the stone, and walked away without a word. 

.

Two days later, Lady Rhea asked Dimitri to find the professor. 

Rather than tell the archbishop that he hadn’t seen Byleth since the burial, that he hadn’t heard of _anyone_ seeing her at all, that he could scarcely imagine looking her in the eye let alone actually speaking to her, that any one of the hundreds of monks in her service would have been just as suited for finding the professor, he’d bowed and said, “At once, Your Grace.”

Byleth was in the captain’s quarters when he found her. He thought he’d heard her speaking, but when he entered the room, she was alone. She’d jumped when he came in, and when she whirled around, she held a small leather book to her chest. It wasn’t her journal. The leather was lighter and much too worn, and the strap didn’t have the blue beads hers did. But he didn’t dare ask what it was, not with the look in her eyes. There was a panic in them, and he couldn't help but feel he’d walked in on a private moment. 

That only made this next part harder. 

It had been three days since he’d last spoken to her. Three days since the battle at the chapel, when he had to pry her from Jeralt so Mercedes and Marianne could tend to him. Part of him had wanted to comfort her, to hold her while she wept. But if she was crying, he couldn’t tell. Whatever tears she might have been shedding mixed in with the rain. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her gaze was utterly empty.

“Professor?” he’d asked, looking her over for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

She blinked at him, as if surprised he was there. “F-father…?”

Dimitri turned to the captain. Mercedes was weeping. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, professor,” he said.

Then her eyes glossed over, and with an almost casual tone she simply said, “Oh.”

That moment had been replaying in his mind since then. Byleth wasn’t unfeeling. Dimitri kept reminding himself of that. He knew grief was unpredictable, and he’d seen firsthand what shock can do to a person. Yet, something about the utter… indifference in her voice had made him sick at the time. 

But now, she shook as she clutched that book to her chest, smaller and paler than Dimitri remembered her being. 

He swallowed. “There you are. Lady Rhea is looking for you, Professor.”  
  
That… hadn’t felt right. Dimitri would never forgive himself if he didn’t say _something_. But a hackneyed condolence wouldn’t be enough. Not for her. So Dimitri took a deep breath, and he opened his heart. 

He said things he’d told no one else. Things he’d kept buried for the last four years. Things that hurt to say out loud, that burned his throat as they came out. Things he hoped would mean more to her than any condolence, even if they meant remembering the worst moments of his miserable life. He'd unwound himself before her to the verge of tears, and she simply nodded and thanked him politely. A hollow, rehearsed formality. 

He left the room in a hurry. As far as he could tell, she didn’t watch him leave. 

He waited for her at the dining hall, but she didn’t join him. Not that he’d expected her to. He doubted she’d join him, even as he asked for his own helping of today’s meal and sat down at an empty table. To not go through the motions felt too much like inviting disappointment. So he waited, even though he knew better. 

Apparently, he’d spent hours staring at his soup. At least, that’s what Claude said when he put a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and asked if he was okay. Dimitri lied with a smile. Not enough to fool Claude – Dimitri doubted he could even if he wanted to – but enough to discourage any more foolish questions. 

Claude watched with an indiscernible glint in his eyes as Dimitri hurried out of the dining hall. But as long as he did so quietly, Dimitri didn’t care. If glares could burn, Felix would have made him charcoal by now. 

.

It was hard, sometimes, telling the voices of the living from the dead. But she was deafening, unmistakable, and her voice dripped with the captain’s blood. 

His murderer whispered in the night, and Dimitri saw red. 

Patience _._

_Patience._

Monica wasn’t alone. She stood between the Flame Emperor and a pale stranger in black. Were they truly so arrogant, to convene right on monastery grounds? Dimitri could barely hear them past his own heart pounding in his ears. 

A breath. Two. Their voices were clearer now. _Kronya_? An alias, or a doppelganger, perhaps. No matter. The creature before him reeked of Jeralt’s blood. 

Patience. He couldn’t pass up this chance to hear their plots. 

The professor was there. She’d come up behind him, silent as death, with wild, hungry eyes. Her voice dripped poison and revenge, but no, not yet. Not yet.

The strangers spoke in riddles. _The mystery of their bodies?_ Disguises, then. And Kronya was to stay behind and work with Solon. 

Dimitri cursed under his breath. Solon had disappeared after burning Remire village, and he’d left ash and death in his wake. If he was to ‘work’ again… Dimitri dreaded what that could mean. 

What else?

 _Duscur_.

The name was a burning road. It was death and blood and his father’s head rolling from his corpse. It was Glenn’s pale, blood-drained face, his hazel eyes frozen in terror and regret. It was smoke and screams, a hand that wrapped around Dimitri’s throat and twisted tight, so tight. 

Back at the monastery, Byleth gripped his shoulder. She stared at him in horror. Had he made a sound? Said something? Hesitated? 

Dimitri turned to the strangers. They were facing him. 

No. No, no, _NO!_

Byleth was on them like lightning, but not quite fast enough. The Flame Emperor had just enough time to unsheathe a dagger from under his cloak and block the brunt of the blow. But the force of Byleth’s swing was still enough to knock the dagger off the Emperor’s hand and send it scattering to the floor. Not wasting a moment, Byleth pivoted and turned with a backhanded blow, a wide, brutal arc with the entire weight of her body behind it. 

Had it made contact, it would have cleaved the Flame Emperor’s head clean off. But there was a flash of white-violet light, and Byleth’s sword cut through thin air. 

Dimitri and Byleth stood alone in the courtyard. The strangers had disappeared. 

Dimitri wanted to scream. To weep. His head swam and he swayed with dizzying rage. The edges of his vision turned murky, his anger almost blinding him entirely before he caught something in the corner of his eye. A flash of moonlight glinting off metal. 

There, where the Flame Emperor had stood just a moment ago, he saw it. 

It had been a decade, but there was no mistaking that dagger. The groove on the blade. The curve of the crossguard. The familial starburst Crest etched on the chappe. He’d held it close to his heart so many years ago. He still remembered how their small hands could barely wrap around the grip. 

Now, it was a puny, pathetic thing. He could snap it in half with meager effort. 

The next morning, his stepsister stifled a giggle at a secret Dorothea whispered in her ear. He watched her from behind a shadow, an iron grip on the once-dear dagger hidden in the folds of his cape.

 _Patience_. 

.

By sundown, Dimitri couldn’t stand it anymore. He hadn’t slept that night. How could he? His mind raced, piecing everything he’d seen and learned together, but his ill-informed conclusions were as much a product of fear as reason. And Dimitri feared a great many things. 

All the while, the professor hadn’t left his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he couldn’t bear the thought of another day passing by without seeing her. He hadn’t yet done nor said nearly enough. Dimitri feared he’d go mad from it, or sick. Or both. And he wasn’t entirely sure seeing the professor would help, either. Likely it wouldn’t, and he’d been avoiding her like the sickness for it. 

But the night before had changed everything. 

It was just before dusk when he finally made his way to her quarters. The moon was faint, a thin crescent above a line of pale yellow clouds. A cold wind blew from the east, and in the crisp, chilly air, Dimitri thought of home. He always enjoyed the colder months. They made him braver somehow. And right now, he needed all the bravery he could get. 

One small problem, though. 

Ashe and Caspar were standing outside Byleth’s door. 

Dimitri darted behind the nearest column when he noticed the bouquet of violets in Ashe’s hands. It had taken Dimitri the whole day to build up the courage to come to the professor, and even then it was a fragile thing. He was sure one word from Ashe would destroy every ounce of it. 

Ashe held a balled fist to Byleth’s door. He stopped short of knocking before turning to Caspar, as if for confirmation. But Caspar simply shook his head with a frown, and Ashe’s shoulders drooped in defeat. With a sigh, he placed the flowers at the foot of the door. It was the latest addition to a growing stack of neglected gifts.

He watched them scurry off before he approached Byleth’s door. He looked down at the pile of gifts, flowers and food and more than a few letters. They had been there a while, untouched. Most of the flowers had already wilted or were beginning to – except for the violets Ashe had just left – and some of the food smelled faintly of mold. He even recognized Dedue’s handiwork among the baked treats. His heart broke at seeing his friend’s work go to waste. 

He knocked on the door. “Professor?”

No answer. 

“Professor, it’s me,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray how badly he was shaking. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I… the students are worried about you.” 

He thought he heard shuffling from inside, so he leaned in to press his ear against it. It was quiet. 

“I thought perhaps you would like some company.”

Silence. 

He waited for a few moments – longer than he thought was appropriate – before finally relenting. He backed away from the door, shoulders slumped. “Goodnight, Profes–”

Dimitri almost tripped over himself when the door creaked open. The professor greeted him with silence, half-hidden behind the door, her face shrouded by a curtain of teal hair. 

Dimitri’s throat was dry all of a sudden. “May I come in?” he asked.

For a moment, Byleth didn’t move. When at last she did, she simply stepped to the side and opened the door wider. Taking that as an invitation, Dimitri bowed. He hoped the gesture would hide him as he released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“The students left gifts for you,” he said as he slid inside her room. “Would you like me to bring them in?” 

Byleth followed his eyes to the pile of gifts at her door. She stared at them in silence for a few moments, though Dimitri wasn’t sure she actually noticed them. She seemed to sway as she stood, almost listlessly. Dimitri wondered if he’d woken her up. His face burned at the thought. 

It was a few moments longer before she shook her head in response and closed the door. The room turned black; the curtains were drawn, and the last bits of the day’s light seeped in in feeble rays. The air was heavy and thick. It drove the breath out of Dimitri and made him nauseous. He knew then what he had dreaded: Byleth hadn’t left her room since the night before. 

“Professor?”

At his voice, she seemed to flinch. When she looked up, and her tousled hair parted just enough for Dimitri to see her face, he thought he was staring at a corpse. Her cheeks were hollow, and the bags under her eyes looked like bruises on her pale skin. She wore a white linen shift that drained her of all color save for the blue-green of her hair and the pink of her bare feet on the cold stone floor. And her eyes. Goddess, her eyes. They were crazed and hurt and they _screamed_ at him. 

“Professor,” he said in an almost-whisper, “we’re all worried.” 

She wouldn’t look at him. She simply stood at the door, trembling, a white-knuckled grip on the door handle. 

Dimitri wanted to go to her so bad it hurt. But his limbs were locked in place and he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ move. So he begged. “Please, say something.” 

Byleth swallowed hard. At last she spoke, her voice hoarse and cracked, “I… I–I don't–” Her breath hitched and cut her off. It seemed to surprise her, because it sent her scurrying past Dimitri – he nearly jumped out of her way – to sit at the edge of her bed. She dug her face in her hands. 

"Professor," Dimitri said softly, daring to inch closer to her, "I can't help you unless you let me."

She didn’t look up. 

Dimitri fought the urge to bolt for the door. He’d tried, after all, and he couldn’t well _force_ the professor to let him help her. But his courage must not have been as fragile as he’d thought, because he sat down beside her despite the drumming in his chest. 

"I… _know…_ how hard this is,” he said. “But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Not when there are so many of us who would help you. You will get through this pain only with the aid of others. You cannot find comfort on your own. This I know."

More silence. Dimitri waited, again, but soon that became unbearable. With the last of his courage, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and finally, she relented with a sigh. 

“It was only ever Father and I," she said finally, still not looking at him. She hung her head low and picked at her nails as she spoke. "We had no family, no home. We only had each other, and wherever the job took us. Life was… simple. But now… I don't…”

She hiccupped on a sob, and she began to cry. 

Dimitri had never comforted anyone in his life. He had few close friendships, none of them anywhere near emotionally intimate. He was at a loss as to what to do, but his body moved as if on its own. He wrapped an arm around Byleth’s shoulders and pressed his cheek against the back of her neck. He’d half-expected her to draw away, but she dug her face into her hands and leaned into his embrace, and for a moment Dimitri forgot how to breathe. Should he rub her back? Smooth her hair? Dimitri didn’t dare; he could hardly bear this much touch as it was. 

That… No, that wasn’t entirely true. Normally, Dimitri was averse to touch altogether. It was foreign to him, and he had little trust in his own strength. Even _sparring_ with others terrified him. Their bones were so much like needles, after all. So small and fragile. Ordinarily, this much touch would have sent a fear searing through him, burning all thought and sense. Dimitri braced himself for it. 

It never came.

But then, he’d always found he was stronger when _others_ needed his strength. 

So he closed his eyes and listened to Byleth’s sobs. He held her until her weeping stopped – he wasn’t sure how long that was – and she shrugged him off gently. Dimitri’s chest was cold without her. He hugged himself when she turned away, his face burning, and when she turned back to him she was holding out the book she’d held at the captain’s quarters. He took it in his hands and looked up at her, a wordless question. 

“Before he died…” she croaked, “Father told me he’d leave something for me to find.”

“This?” Dimitri asked, running a hand down the soft leather. 

“His diary,” she said. 

“Have you read it?”

She nodded. Suddenly, it felt crass to hold it. He held it out to her. 

Byleth took the diary in her hands. “I… I knew _nothing_ ,” she said, thumbing through the pages. “He _told_ me nothing. Not who we were or where we were from. I never knew my mother’s name, my own _birthday_ , until I read it. And I don’t understand _why_ .” She set the book down beside her and stared at it for a few moments before speaking again. “It never bothered me before now because it never mattered before now. I had _him_. He would tell me what to do and where to go and that was enough. But he’s gone now, and I have... I have nothing.” 

Dimitri thought she might cry again, but she dropped her eyes and was quiet. When moments passed with neither of them moving, Dimitri made up his mind to do something bold. 

He didn't try for a smile. He'd never been especially good at them, and Byleth deserved better than a false gesture. So instead he brushed her hair from her eyes and took her face in his hands and made her look at him. If she saw him, if she saw in his eyes, then maybe, just maybe, she would see his heart and hear his words. It was a desperate thought, and brazen, but it was the only thing that felt _right._

"Nothing?” he asked. “My friend, how can you say that? So many of us would tear through heaven for you. Would lay down our lives for you. In the short time we have known you, you have proven time and again how kind you are, how brave and strong and _good_ . And you will _always_ have the love of all whose lives you touch, for wherever you go, you bring light and joy. _We_ would be your home, your family, if you would have us.”

Her tears had stopped, but her face remained splotchy and red. Her cheeks burned against his hands. Dimitri brushed his thumbs just underneath her eyes, wiping away at the wetness that remained.

"Everything I have,” he said, “everything I _am_ , is yours. For as long as I live."

They stayed like that for a few silent moments, Dimitri ghosting his thumbs across her cheeks. Had it worked? He didn’t dare hope, but her eyes were softer now. Would she smile again? Was it selfish of Dimitri to wish so? He supposed so, because the thought drew a smile from _him_. He waited almost breathlessly for hers, never realizing Byleth had been leaning in until her lips touched his. 

It was a light kiss, a mere brush of her lips on his, but the touch burned Dimitri like hot steel. With a gasp, he gripped Byleth’s shoulders and tore her away. The look of shame and horror on her swollen face made a knot out of his stomach, and when her lip began to quiver, Dimitri felt a chill in his chest. He looked away, eyes stinging. 

“I… I–I, I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I didn’t…”

“It’s okay.”

“N–no, it’s… I… No. I’m sorry, I can’t–”

Dimitri couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like it had caved in, and the edges of his sight were turning black, fast, that burning fear driving all thought from his mind. Dimitri couldn’t move, his every muscle so tense his bones ached, ready to snap. He screwed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and willed the pulsing in his head to ease just enough for him to be able to think again. 

He realized he was digging his nails into Byleth’s shoulders. A pathetic whine escaped him as he shot to his feet and rushed towards the door. His shaking hands made it hard to work the lock but he needed out, out _right_ now, before he–

 _Click_. 

He almost sobbed in relief. 

He couldn’t bear to turn around and look at her. The goddess knows he’d collapse right then and there. His blood sang, and the door slammed shut behind him with a loud _crack_ , the wood nearly splintering. Every ounce of Dimitri’s concentration went into forcing one foot in front of the other, his Crest be damned. 

There was salt on his lips from her tears. He scrubbed off the taste of her mouth, rubbing at his lips until he tasted blood. He focused on the copper sting, a distraction from the storm building in his chest. If he could stave it off for a few moments, just enough to reach his quarters. Just a few moments. That's all he needed. 

His thoughts lingered on that moment. It made him sick to admit it, but there was a part of him that had enjoyed it. How soft Byleth’s lips were. How warm. How his skin still prickled where hers had touched. The memory sent a strange warmth through his chest and made his head spin. 

Dimitri had never known a kiss before. And he wanted more. So much more. 

It scared him how much more he wanted. 

He cursed himself. She had been crying, mourning, and he’d held her face and brushed her cheek and said those things and they made her kiss him. What was he thinking? How could he have been so blind to his own actions? 

He’d meant every single word he said. But he’d never meant for…

He wondered what he’d left her to **.** He’d bruised her shoulders, that much was certain. Maybe even tore through skin. And her door would need repairs, too. If the sheer sound was any indication, Dimitri slammed it hard enough to break its hinges. He wondered if she was crying right now, alone in her cold, dark room. He'd probably just broken her heart, after all. 

Dimitri would have laughed at the notion – him, the object of _her_ affection – except it made his stomach twist. He thought he might vomit from the guilt, but by an act of Sothis he was able to stay upright, his legs moving despite having lost all feeling in them. 

Why, _why_ were the professor’s quarters so damn far from his? 

He tried not to think about just how long he had left to go. Every step felt like a mile, his legs like lead, and knowing how much further he still had to go would destroy him. _Don’t think_ , Gustave always told him. _Don’t let your fears in, or they’ll be the death of you. Don’t think, just_ do. 

So Dimitri trudged on and tried not to think. He tried not to think about the fact that Byleth was just another fool who’d fallen for his act of Good Prince. He tried not to think of what could have been if he were someone else, someone worthy of her love, who would’ve held her and kissed her and be all that she needed. He tried not to think about what it meant that he _wanted_ to be that someone more than anything, about what might happen if it meant he loved her, too. About what _had_ happened to everyone he’d ever loved, how they followed in his shadow, pulling at him, always pulling at him, pulling at him _right now_.

He might have heard Sylvain’s voice. He wasn’t sure. He could hardly hear anything past the pounding in his ears. The storm was closing in, loud, loud, and the world was turning black and bleary. 

He'd barely made it to his bed when his knees gave out under him and the air turned to mud and he drowned in it. 

The quiet was loud, too loud. It was wailing and screaming and standing alone in a field of blood and steel and corpses. It was dead things clawing and begging and sobbing and tearing at him, at his skin, at his soul, and they were quiet most of the time but not when he was alone, when there was nothing to drown them out and their whispers turned to screams, loud, so loud, they chased the air out of his lungs and he wanted to cry.

And cry he did. His tears scorched down his cheeks and his head spun because he couldn't breathe, and there was little he could do except curl up on his side and wait, wait. Wait for the shadows in his room to remember they were four years dead and leave him be, but ever since the chapel they'd grown louder and darker.

The captain hissed into his ear, hurt and pain and rage all at once, cursing the goddess and wailing for his little girl. Dimitri begged him to stop but he was dead, and the dead don't listen, they only howl and weep. 

All this the prince suffered without a sound, hugging his knees and gasping out muffled sobs because if anyone heard him there'd be questions and questions only made his lungs twist tighter and the shadows grow louder, and Good Princes didn’t drown on nothing at all. 

So he was quiet.

 _Quiet_.

While the quiet screamed at him.

He didn't know how long he lay like that. It was hard to keep track of time when he lost himself to the dead. It could have been minutes, an hour, three, he had no idea. But it felt like he'd been falling for an eternity when sleep finally took him and he dreamt of oblivion. 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for their first kiss came from when you explore the monastery after Jeralt’s death and listen to what Dimitri says. [ gabzelpygeon ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabzelpygeon/pseuds/gabzelpygeon) and I always liked the idea of there being an Academy Phase kiss. This felt like the most natural place for it to happen, since it would explain Dimitri’s shyness when you explore.
> 
> Good _God,_ this felt a lot longer than it actually is. Sorry about the ending. Dimitri’s just so damn sad, you guys. This hurt to write, to be honest. But turns out I can have a panic attack on command! Which was _very_ helpful for this part. 
> 
> There’s a second part on the works right now. It takes place in the War Phase and centers around Byleth's feelings. It will be happier, I promise. It'll take a bit until I can publish it, so I welcome any feedback!


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